objective results produced by it. And now let us turn from the motives which consist in the desire of self-realisation to those which consist in the desire of the approbation or the homage of others. This desire, which exercises a great influence on the artist, and often also on the seeker after speculative truth, concurrently with the {299} desire of pure self-realisation, exhibits its force most signally when it is the motive of military heroism; and the readiness with which a soldier will risk his life for honour—honour which brings with it nothing besides itself, excepting perhaps a medal and a scrap of ribbon—has been said by socialistic writers to afford a conclusive proof that any practical work, no matter how laborious, and more particularly the work of the great wealth-producer, will be willingly undertaken for the sake of the same reward. “_The soldier’s subsistence is certain_,” writes a well-known contemporary enthusiast. “_It does not depend upon his exertions. At once he becomes susceptible to appeals to his patriotism. He will dare anything for glory, and value a bit of bronze which is ‘the reward of valour’ far more than a hundred times its weight in gold._” The implication, of course, is that what men will do in war they will do in peaceful industry; and the writer adds, in order to point this moral, “_yet many of the private soldiers come from the worst of the population_.” This passage is quoted with rapture by another socialistic theorist, who exclaims, “_Let those especially notice this last point who fancy we must wait till men are angels before socialism be practical_.” And even so well-trained a thinker as Mr. Frederic Harrison has argued, from the readiness with which men die in battle for their country, that they will be equally willing to deny themselves or suffer martyrdom for universal humanity.